


Breaking The Law (Now Confess Your Sins)

by mandywritesfiction



Category: Jurassic World (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe, BDSM, Consensual Kink, Drug Use, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Kink, Multi, Possible Character Death, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-14
Updated: 2016-04-09
Packaged: 2018-05-26 18:22:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6250492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mandywritesfiction/pseuds/mandywritesfiction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After overcoming the trauma of watching her parents die right before her, it's needless to say that Claire Dearing has a few strong bones in her body and, as a lawyer, she'll do anything for her clients... even if it means breaking a few rules. </p><p>Two years prior to the case that could escalate their careers, Claire and Owen had a night of their own, yet she never knew that she'd meet him again... in the courtroom. Owen Grady is a hotshot lawyer who has two of the richest men in the country backing him. When he comes face to face with Claire, will his desire to have to her himself again be too much? Will her strength be enough to withstand the influence of Owen Grady, who has a few dark secrets of his own?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tease

**Author's Note:**

> I'm also adding this warning to the beginning of this note, simply because I don't take it lightly. This will be rated explicit (for later chapters), with TW advised (in later chapters) for all subject matter including (but not limited to) death, bdsm, sex and drugs.
> 
> A/N: I don’t even know where to start with this. Well, first, I owe my first born child to @amelias-obsessions for throwing herself into this, just as much as I have. She’s been pure perfection and a total delight when it comes to needing someone to talk ideas with, get character’s surnames, and to be a cheerleader (read: source of peer pressure). I’m only teasing! I’m immensely excited to start this new journey, just as another comes to an end (RIP Stay With Me), and honestly cannot wait to see the path writing this story takes me on. If you didn’t see above, there is a trigger warning and it will continue for the entire span of this fic. I’m not going to take it down, or erase it from any chapter titles, because I think it’s safe to say it’ll need to remain there. With that being said... enjoy! (Wink, wink.)

_“You might be the dominant in your courtroom, but when you’re with me, you’re the submissive in mine.”_

 

 

* * *

“Objection, Your Honor! Miss Young was clearly --” Claire Dearing stood quickly from the wooden seat as it fell backwards, crashing to the ground as the jury gasped at her sudden movement towards the stand where Owen Grady stood. 

“Counselors!” Judge Vivian Krill’s voice superseded over both attorneys and the muffled whispers that seeped from the gallery. “I will not have the two of you butting heads each time we have a witness on the stand. Prosecutor Dearing, return to your seat, the motion of objection is overruled. The defense may continue with the cross-examination.” 

Claire gawked as she was declined the opportunity to save her client from having to answer the ever-terrifying and trauma-inducing question; but she knew where Owen was going with it. After all, it wasn’t the first time they’d crossed paths.

He was trying to prove that Zara wasn’t doing her job the night she let herself into the tiger habitat. He wanted the jury to see that it a voluntary action; she unlocked the latch, slid into the habitat, and was aware of her actions. That, instead of using the brains and skills of a park employee, one who had beena handler to many of the animals, she was simply trying to ‘have fun’ after the park had closed for the day. 

Which resulted in her injury. 

In the eyes of a juror, it was a valid question, and one that needed to be answered. What exactly was the victim doing at the time that she was injured? 

Clearly, Judge Krill also thought it was an acceptable question. 

“Miss Young, please answer the question,” Owen probed, stepping closer to the bench, peering over the side to see the metal rails of her chair. 

He remembered the morning after the incident, nearly four months prior, when Vic Hoskins called him in a pure panic. 

Vic Hoskins, the long-standing Managing Director of the Saint Croix Zoological Park, was a force to be reckoned with. When Owen was first hired by Hoskins four years prior, still fresh from taking the bar exam, his first case was to settle a lawsuit between SCZP and an outside company who had been cheated out of their deal with Hoskins. To say it was  _allegedly_ illegal was only a fraction of the truth. Vic wasn’t one to play by the rules and he soon taught Owen that the only way to win in life was to  _bend_  those rules. 

It was by no accident that soon after he won the first case, Owen had suddenly been promoted as Hoskins right-hand man. Vic earned him the right of passage into one of the most prestigious law firms in the entire state of Wisconsin, and in return, Owen sold his soul to the devil reincarnate. 

The morning he was woke by a frantic Hoskins was quite possibly the worst of his life. Sure, he’d had  _bad_  days. Hell, when the Seattle Seahawks lost in Super Bowl XLIX, Owen had narrowly missed falling into a deep depression.

The case,  _this_ case, was in a class of its own.

Now, only days into the trial, the probing media coverage alone was enough to haunt his dreams at night. Never had Owen thought that he would need to have a security team to escort himself and Vic away from the courthouse when court dismissed each day. Whether or not that was due to Vic previously wanting to settle out of court was to be disclosed, but now it certainly didn’t matter.

“Miss Young, do we need to take a short recess or are you able to answer the question Mister Grady is asking?” Judge Krill glanced down and over her shoulder to the raven-haired woman, avoiding a judgmental stare.

It was the answer everyone in the courtroom was waiting with bated breath to hear. 

“Let me repeat the question,” Owen snatched the silver-tipped pen from the table where his client sat before he strolled past Claire. Rolling her eyes, she wasn’t going to buy into the act for as second. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, Claire knew he was quivering underneath his Armani jacket. After all, this was his first trial that had  _ever_ gained media coverage. 

“Miss Young, what were you doing in the tiger’s habitat after the park had closed on the night of the twenty-first of November?” Owen calmly paced before the stand, obnoxiously snapping the thrust tube of the pen against the spring, revealing the ballpoint tip, as he waited for Zara Young’s answer. 

 _Click._ Pause.  _Click._ Pause.  _Click._

Finally, after what felt like  _months_ , Zara’s defeated, strangled voice filled the courtroom. “I wasn’t goofing off the night I went into the tiger’s habitat. About a month before, I had overheard Simon Masrani saying how he was going to kill the tigers who had deformations, only to find out that he’s been ordering the inbreeding of them for  _years_!” The young woman’s gaze narrowed at the man who sat left of Vic Hoskins. “He said that the breeding program would make Saint Croix the ‘x’ on the map of all zoological parks in the United States and it would lead to  _more_  funding, but he’s killing our animals! ” 

Silence swarmed the room as her words echoed and forced Owen to stop dead in his tracks. It was almost as if another move would set off a landmine, leaving nothing in its wake. 

Hoskins would appreciate that. 

The stillness in the air only lasted for a mere minute before an erratic craze  ensued. If looks could kill, Claire would’ve been dead within a millisecond after Owen’s head spun three times in order to look directly at her.

‘X’ marks the spot. 

“Objection!” Owen’s voice roared over the court as he shot back in front of Judge Krill, waving his hand in her face to gain her attention. All the while, Claire sat at the table directly across from Zara with a smug grin plastered to her features. 

Her client was a genius. 

Claire would never had guessed that Zara was holding back on such a secret, one that was guaranteed to shake up the trial. Although, she could guarantee they’d be having a rather stern meeting after the day’s revelation. 

“Objection, Your Honor, that is strictly hearsay, and I will not stand for letting Miss Young play the sympathy card in order to bypass the rules of the law!” He dominated the floor and pointed a direct finger at Zara, who gasped quietly, her eyes wide. 

Immediately, Owen dropped both arms as the blood pumped through his veins, pushing seething anger to his extremities and back as it felt like the blood was rushing to his head, only to glance over to understand  _that_ feeling was the laser beam focus Vic had on him. 

It was clear to the naked eye that both sides needed breathing room, and as Judge Krill stood to speak and both attorneys followed suit, the eyes of the room were focused on Zara as Owen’s previous words floated around the room.

Zara Young. 

Twenty-seven.

 _Paraplegic._  

 

 

* * *

“Karen, you should’ve been there to see the jury. You could’ve heard a pen drop, it was so quiet.” Claire made a beeline for her office on the opposite side of the courthouse, weaving through the pillars outside the stone and brick-structured building, as she clutched her phone tight to her ear. The weather during March in Wisconsin was hardly forgiving, and her bare legs -- thanks to the Goddamn skirt she’d chosen to wear -- were feeling the effects, which was why her current mission included making it to her office before hypothermia began to set in. 

Her brain was frazzled to the point where, if she were forced to talk ‘legal’ with anyone else, Claire would’ve mentally shut down. Yet, she always felt some bizarre relief when she was able to recount the days she spent in court to her sister. 

“And the look on that dipshit’s face? What did  _he_  look like?” Karen chuckled, adding to the fun. She knew  _exactly_  who Owen Grady was and had the poor and unfortunate pleasure of meeting him in person upon several circumstances. 

If only her husband, Scott Mitchell, hadn’t been the lead investigator on the case. Then, she wouldn’t have to know how disgustingly handsome Owen Grady was.

Where Scott was involved was an immense conflict of interest, but most cases were, especially where the law mattered.  How was he to know that Claire would be the victim’s choice for an attorney? He  _should’ve_  known, considering she was the most sought-after prosecutor in the entire state. 

Claire ducked inside the building and let her vocal cords thaw before she tried to speak again, slowing her pace on the way to her fifth-floor office. “It was complete and utter perfection. His jaw dropped until it was scraping the floor, and Vic Hoskins looked like he had already shit himself and was on his way to going into cardiac arrest. Which, mind you, I wouldn’t have had an issue with.” 

Karen snorted with laughter, her chest swelling with pride for her younger sister. The years of heartache were surely worth it now that Claire had finally achieved what she wanted, and Karen had been given the front row seat to watching the entire ride. “I’m sure you kicked major ass today, Claire Bear.” 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake Karen, it’s been  _at least_  twenty years that I’ve been begging you to stop calling me that,” Claire whined, dragging out each syllable in her sister’s name while stepping into the open elevator. 

That was pure luck. 

“I know you have, and I’m working on it. It just could take another twenty years for it to completely leave my system.” The growing smirk could be heard in the fluctuation of her voice and, if it was something that made her sister smile, Claire wouldn’t push  _too_  hard to rid of it. Well... not tonight, at least. 

The comfortable silence lingered between them for a few moments while she stood in the elevator and fiddled with the flap on her leather cross-body bag, struggling to dig for the keys to her office and cursed in frustration when she was unable to find them. 

“Claire, what are you--” 

“The keys to my office, I can't find them.  _Fuck._ Now, I’m going to have to call maintenance to unlock my door.” Which would take a solid hour given the time of night. 

An hour that she didn’t  _have_  to waste, either. There were motions that needed to be filed in order to gain a search warrant for Simon Masrani’s personal and work computers, documents, phone logs and text messages.  _This_  wasn’t supposed to happen once a trial had already started.

And she had thirty-six hours to complete it, per Judge Krill’s demand. 

When the bell dinged to signify arriving at the fifth floor, Claire stepped off the elevator and began to walk towards her office, praying to  _whatever_  God that she would suddenly find her keys  _somewhere_. Maybe she had simply bypassed them when digging in her bag. 

Sure. That was the  _obvious_  answer. 

Unaware of what had told her to try opening the door without a key, Claire reached for the doorknob and, expecting to be locked out, was bewildered when it twisted beneath the palm of her hand. 

“Claire, did you find your keys?” 

There was no better way for the heavens to cut her some slack than not forcing her into calling Luke, the overnight maintenance worker.

“No, but --” 

Just as she stepped foot inside her office the answer to her question had been solved. 

And the heavens she had been giving rejoice to? They just became the biggest dick ever. 

There he was. 

The  _dipshit.  
_

Sitting in  _her_  office. 

Sitting in her office with his feet kicked up on  _her_  desk.

“Karen, I’ll have to call you back later, the  _dipshit_  is in my office.” 

Reclined back with both hands folded behind his head, Owen silently undressed Claire with his eyes and watched as she stepped into the office, kicking the door shut behind her. It was too bad she hadn’t bothered to lock it. He assessed the way she stood, confident and beaming in her own right, but as the seconds passed her posture began to dip and she crossed both arms over her chest. 

“Why are you here, Grady?” Claire’s voice dipped to a growl as she stood near the filing cabinets, suddenly looking all too familiarly like a fish out of water. 

Simultaneously, he sat up, uncrossed his arms from behind his head and dangled the small loop from between his thumb and forefinger. “Looking for these?” Owen licked his lips as a smirk formed, barely giving her long enough to suggest otherwise. “You should be more careful with your belongings, Claire, a stranger could’ve gotten ahold of these. I guess it’s a good thing it was just me, right?” A shrill laugh slipped from his lips as he watched her begin to retreat back into her shell.

“Bite me, asshole.” 

Okay, so not as far in as he’d like. 

“Wouldn’t you like that?” He smirked, standing too quick for her comfort, obvious by the way Claire jolted back, ramming her spine against the filing cabinet, even causing him to shudder at the painful expression that crossed her face. 

He enjoyed watching her and had ever since the first time they’d worked together; it just hadn’t been nearly as often as Owen would’ve liked. He particularly liked the contrast of her fire-infused hair to her pale, sun-kissed skin, and how it seemed to electrocute her personality to life. 

“It’s been a while since we’ve had a chance to sit down and catch up, Claire, so why don’t you sit?” He gestured towards the small, obsolete, wooden chair on the opposite side of her desk, one he imagined her asking clients to sit in on a daily basis. That must’ve been what happened when you worked for the state. 

“You’re wrong, it hasn't been long enough since our  _terrible_ date we had, what, two years ago? I’d like to live an eternity in Hell before having to see you again.” Claire watched him carefully as she sidestepped around the much smaller, knee-height filing cabinet and reached for the small chair, slowly lowering herself to sit. Little did he know, it was where she kept her matte-black, Glock G21 handgun. One wrong move and she could, and  _would_ , rightfully claim self-defense. 

How else would he defend himself when his fingerprints coated the doorknob  _and_ her keys. 

The  _keys._

The same ones that unlocked the cabinet. 

“Your thoughts are running in overdrive right now, aren’t they?” Owen’s voice was smooth and thick as he spoke, almost enough to put her into a trance or fog if he truly wanted to; but that would take the fun out of teasing and messing with her head. Instead, he rounded the desk and took his previous seat in the open leather chair, grinning as he dropped the keys to the desk, waiting for her to reach for them. 

“What do you want, Owen?” Claire snapped and reached out to smack her open palm against the wooden desk, frustration coating her veins. “Today has been long enough without having to deal with the paperwork to file  _harassment charges_ , too.” She stood her ground as she spoke, enunciating her words carefully to get her point across, “or is that what you want? You want  _that_  to blow-up along with the shitty defense case you’ve put on thus far?” She snorted as the stinging began to tickle the palm of her hand, adding a pleasant distraction to the raging migraine she felt approaching with speed. 

“I want you to convince your client to  _silently_  withdraw her  _outrageous_  statement made in court today. Truthfully, it made  _you_  look like a fool, and I know you don’t want the hassle of the paperwork...” He nodded at her shoulder, where the leather strap continued to dig its way into her peacoat, determined to make a mark on her skin. 

He’d literally lost his mind, right? That was the only explanation for the blatant outburst. Either that, or Vic Hoskins’ air-for-brains was finally rubbing off on him.

If her expression -- a single second away from laughter -- hadn’t spoken her thoughts, Owen straightened with his jaw set while he continued to stifle his laughter. 

“You are fucking around, right?” 

“Funny you mention that, it was my next offer. If you agree _,_ I’ll convince Vic to agree on the original asking amount that Zara will profit at the end of this trial. After, of course, she pays you the -- what is it up to, now? Point-zero-two percent? Or is the state still paying you without any profit from the client?” He grinned, knowing damn well what the answer was. 

The color flushed from her features as Claire tried to grapple at what this meant. 

Her client would be able to pay off the nearly one  _million_ dollars in medical bills she owed. Zara would be able to live comfortably for the rest of her life. Or, as comfortably as one could with the daily reminder of the trauma she endured. It meant  _sixty-five million dollars_  would be awarded to Zara Young. 

As Claire was lost in the mental debate, Owen stood and clapped his hands together, resting his chin on the apex his fingers made when folded together. “Well, I should really be going now, you have quite the load of paperwork on your hands, and I would hate for you to have to stay up too late tonight in order to complete it.” He rounded her desk, heading for the door as a menacing laugh escaped. When he reached out for the doorknob, he stopped with it firm in his grip before turning towards her. 

“Thirty-six hours and counting until court commences again,  _Counselor._  Why don’t you sleep on the offer and put your rose-colored glasses on in the morning. I promise it’ll look sweeter once you have a chance to dream about me.” 

Without another word, Owen excused himself from her office and slid out in the hallway, leaving Claire to muse over his offer. 

Only seconds passed before she jerked the forms from her bag, threw them on her desk, and began sorting through the codes for motions she would need to file in order to put Simon Masrani on the stand. 

“Game on, Owen Grady.” 

 

 

* * *

A humongous thank you to my raptor dream-team: [@amelias-obsessions](https://tmblr.co/m4iCJu3XgXo-HyUjTZnID4A), [@clawengradearings-world](https://tmblr.co/m8W0zNecxK3trkbuUGV4ivQ), [@poeticandvaguelysweet](https://tmblr.co/m7Vwb7TGD1fhG7dh5MC2hLg), [@captainandbucky](https://tmblr.co/m0za3FoE_Y5vKxOzIeWPabw), [@lannisterslioness](https://tmblr.co/m-T_uR3odvFMwWO5emdv-eg), [@verxxotle](https://tmblr.co/mViKCjtOjICZmH8v4dCSKEg), [@cali-forniacationn](https://tmblr.co/muOz3-YgtL0wwWkn0lWnbRw), [@endearing-claire](https://tmblr.co/mzbCAjBQ6Zco8M2oR6jIjRg), and I’m sure there are so many of you that I’m forgetting to tag, and I profusely apologize. 


	2. Push and Pull

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Holy shit. I don’t even know where to begin. I have so many of you to thank for all the love and support (read: threatening messages) you’ve sent me, begging to work on this every single day. Trust me, if I could whip up a chapter a day, I would. I might not post it, because I like to tease y’all. Anyways, a huge thanks to @amelias-obsessions, @verxxotle and @captainandbucky for listening to me whine for the past few days. And then there’s the rest of the raptor dream-team, and y’all just keep multiplying. I love every single one of you! Seriously. I do. Anyways, skip the rest of this nonsense and read!

_“Tell me Claire, do you want me to fuck you? Or are you simply looking for someone to tease you?”_

* * *

“By law, there is nothing that can keep Miss Young from testifying to the truth. Yes, it wasn’t discussed with Mister Grady and myself, but Your Honor, can you honestly say you’re having a problem understanding where she is coming from?”

Claire spoke with the written eloquence that only she could scrape together when presenting in front of Judge Krill and Owen Grady. It was the three of them in the chambers, discussing the latest advancement in the case between Young and Hoskins. 

Needless to say, Owen had been quite surprised the following morning after their  _talk_. He was confident that she was going to give up the moment he left, exhaling a relieved sigh with the knowledge that she didn't need to fight any further. He had given her an out; he’d given Zara Young an out. What was there to even think about? 

Now, the only thought that lingered in his mind was if Claire had even been kind enough to tell her client. 

Of course she hadn’t. Claire had contemplated it the entire night, losing sleep over the thought of her client being given the future she  _deserved_. What was so wrong with that? Wasn’t it the sole reason they were here? Yes, and no. Claire wanted to give Zara the satisfaction of winning the case and being able to look Vic Hoskins in the eye when he was forced to surrender to the fact that he and Simon Masrani had done wrong and were  _charged_  with it. There would be no more secrets between the two men. 

Unlike Claire and the secrets she kept stored in a box in the fiery-flames of hell. She would never disclose the laws she’d broken to -- 

“Counselor Dearing, are you still with us?” 

Her gaze shot up to witness Judge Vivian Krill glaring directly at her and the most Claire could offer was a sheepish grin. “Yes, Your Honor. Can you please recap?” 

By the look on Owen’s face, the ruling had certainly not been in his direct favor; but couldn’t he find a way to spin  _that_ around? 

“You’ll have the rest of the day to have search warrants fulfilled and to find your fair share of evidence. Court will resume tomorrow morning, and I will deliver the news to our jury in a moment. Miss Young will need transportation back to her home. I’m sure you’ve arranged for it, Miss Dearing?” 

 _Fuck._ Her  _transportation_ wouldn’t be stopping by the courthouse until the evening to pick her up.

“Yes, Your Honor. I can take the time out of my day to take her where she needs to be.” Hell if Claire would fuck over her chances  _now._  Giving Owen the opportunity to witness her declining a civic duty to her  _client_ would be the final nail in the coffin of her case. 

Just as she turned towards the door, Claire took a quick glance in his direction only to see Owen standing silently, both hands cocked on his hips and his lips tweaking into distinct smirks at the corners. There was something about this that made her shiver; was it the way his eyes darkened when she caught his glance? Did that happen when he looked at  _everyone_?

Something told her the thought was...  _selfish?_

Owen liked to watch the way she squirmed when he was devouring her with a simple gaze. He’d watched her in the courtroom, even just from the start of the case, and had memorized the way she tapped her pen against the table, or how she tucked strands of hair behind her ear when she was getting frustrated. His favorite was how she would purse her lips together when a witness was on stand, so afraid that if she dared to open her mouth the filter before her words would suddenly disappear. 

He’d seen it all. 

Well, not  _yet._

 

* * *

 

 

Claire was done with work.

Correction: she’d had enough of it. Considering herself  _done_  would mean retirement and, well, she had student loan payments on automatic withdraw from her checking account. Some would call her an adult.

Which was exactly why on a Thursday night she was sitting at the bar, by herself, drinking a rum and coke. There was nothing to do in such a small town on the most uneventful night of the week (nor was she looking) but  _drinking_  seemed to sound like the right thing, especially when she was debating the outcome of this trial.

Not that she  _wanted_ (read: tried) to sound cocky, but she’d never doubted herself before when it became to being a lawyer, or even winning a case. Unlike the majority, Claire had grown up knowing what she was meant to do, meant to  _be_ , and it was defending those who either didn’t have a voice, or felt their’s didn't matter. She dominated every year of law school, and graduated  _summa cum laude_  from Vanderbilt University. 

 _Now_  was not the time to question her ability to win a case. 

Some would assume that she’d wanted to become a lawyer because of the terrible accident that left her and Karen without parents. 

Wrapping her small grip tightly around the stout glass, Claire lifted it to rest her lips against the rim, but nearly choked when she heard  _his_  voice from a few barstools away. 

Which would be the quickest escape route? Was there a back door she could creep out of? A fire-alarm to pull that would create enough havoc that she could go unseen? 

 _Fuck_.

No, instead she was forced to sit there as he crept up only feet away, a drink already clasped tightly in his hand, the ridges of his muscles outlined in the sleeves from his button-down shirt. He had probably taken his belt off. 

That wasn’t creepy,  _no_. 

The only reason Claire knew either fact was simply because she had  _turned_  on the stool to see him. She was clearly delusional. Or crazy.

Both, probably. 

Crazy, creepy,  _and_  delusional. 

“Claire.” 

It was the way he spoke her name that caused shivers to erupt across her skin, incasing her spine in a chill that was meant for horror movies. Except, she wasn’t in a horror movie. And she was no longer trying to run. 

Would she have run, if given the chance? 

_Way too many questions._

Instead, Claire counted for three seconds until she glanced up to meet his gaze, involuntarily sinking her teeth into the flesh of her lower lip. She couldn’t pin the thought, but there was something about him that just seemed...  _off._  And it wasn’t necessarily in a bad sense, either. It made her want to grow closer to him, to reach out and touch him to see if there was a spark that traveled between the two points. 

But  _why_ was she having these thoughts? He’d practically broken into her office the night before and she had  _growled_ at the sight of him, and now she wanted to jump into bed with him?

It had to be the alcohol. 

 _“Claire_ , are you all right?” 

She snapped back into reality once she realized he was calling her name, and only then realized that his hand was resting delicately her shoulder. He was  _touching_  her, for fuck’s sake. 

“What? Yeah, I’m fine. I’m sitting here drinking a drink... that’s all I’m doing. Call the tabloids.” Her words bit through the uncomfortable tension, only to leave a gaping hole to be filled in with the leftovers. 

Sexual in nature, of course. 

“Let me guess, it was a rough turnout trying to find things on Masrani’s computer?” He was trying to be sensitive to the fact that he knew she’d had a hellish day. When he left the courthouse at a quarter till eight, he saw the window of her office illuminated by light, and could’ve only wished he could help her. 

He wasn’t a terrible guy.

Really.

Which was difficult to convince people of. 

He hadn’t been blessed with the perfect household growing up and, while everyone thought he was the prep-school student straight out of a Bel-Air-esque zip code, it couldn’t be farther from the truth. The night of his tenth birthday party was the first time he heard his father beating his mom. A year later, when his mom finally gathered enough courage to report him, Michael Grady beat her until she was unconscious. Six days later, she slipped into cardiac arrest after being in a coma.  

He wasn’t the bad guy here. 

Yet, Owen could tell Claire wasn’t buying it. Maybe it was the quiet laugh that started out as a squeak and turned into a full-out bellowing laughter that served as the main clue, or the fact that she was no staring at him like one would a dog with two heads, but he could tell she had some unkind words for him.

“Let  _me_  guess, you’re trying to prove that you  _care_  about the opposing case that I’m putting on against yours, and by  _care_  I mean you’re trying to royally fuck me over.”

Well, if she wanted to say it like  _that_ , who was he to stop her? 

Owen wasn’t going to be the first to defend himself if others wanted to think the worst of him. What the hell did he care? He worked cases, beat the (metaphorical) shit out of others, and woke up the next day to review a new case-file slammed on his desk. 

But there was still that piece of himself he felt was missing.

And he’d be foolish to think  _Claire Dearing_  would be the one to fill it. 

“I don’t know why you, and everyone else, think I’m such a terrible person.” While he spoke, concentrating on keeping his voice calm, Owen pulled out the stool next to her and  _slowly_  sank down onto it, smiling when she didn’t notice.

Oh, she had noticed. 

Although, while  _he_  thought the worst of her, Claire also had the sneaking suspicion that he viewed her as a cold-hearted bitch who was only in it for the money. 

It was oddly a strange scenario. 

Maybe it was the slight twinge of alcohol thrumming through her system, or the fact that his cologne was  _so fucking intoxicating,_ but she found herself leaning towards him, craving more. 

All right, so she was  _completely_ delirious. 

It could’ve been the pheromones. Hell, Claire hadn’t thought about the high-school biology lesson for quite some time, but it all made sense now. The terrible thoughts that she had about Owen earlier in the day?  _Gone._  The overwhelming sense to bash him over the head with a glass and leave the bar?  _Nonexistent._

The constant,  _throbbing_  need between her legs to  _fuck_  him? 

Don’t worry, totally there. 

The internal struggle she had only continued by the time she’d noticed he ordered another drink for them both and was going on about  _another_ case he was working on. Luckily enough, it wasn’t anything close to the same case she’d had land on her desk earlier in the day. 

Which was  _exactly_ what she needed. 

“I’m sorry --” Claire blurted with wide eyes that flared when she glanced over to see him smiling.  _Owen Grady_ was  _smiling._  It forced her to stop in her tracks to question whether she  _really_  knew who this guy was, or had she failed to let him  _show_ her? 

His lips quirked at the corners as he cocked his head to the side, nodding her to continue, “you were saying...” 

Once she convinced herself it was all right to answer, Claire turned to tell him she had to leave just at the same moment their next round of drinks arrived. 

_Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, I’m the goddamn fool who allowed you back in._

Maybe it was a change of heart, or that she simply wanted to give him a chance to prove himself.  _A second chance_ , although she hadn’t believed in the simplicity of it in the past. 

“I was saying that I  _guess_  I have to stay and finish this drink with you, don’t I?” The smile that graced her features spoke the words she’d been trying to hold back since he arrived. 

_It’s too difficult to say no to you._

 

* * *

 

 

Little did Claire know at the time, it would’ve been better to leave the bar the moment she heard Owen _fucking_  Grady walk in. 

She should’ve known he was nothing but bad news. Yet, she continued to drink with him.

_No, no, no. Don’t make it true, don’t make it true._

Not only was her head  _pounding_  with thoughts of the night before, but when Claire carefully peeked one eye open and tried not to make a disgruntled noise as the light filtered in, she finally peered up at the  _tan_ ceiling.

_That is so not the color of my ceiling._

She’d made a mistake. She’d had  _one_  too many drinks (a total of  _three_  for anyone who was counting) and she’d gone home with the devil.

The literal devil. 

Owen fucking Grady. 

Not only had she gone home with him, but they had sex. Numerous times. It wasn’t a ‘hit it and quit it’ night, no. They’d had sex. They’d ordered  _pizza._ Then, round two began. 

Before she knew it, they’d fallen asleep together in his  _bed_ , and now she was paying the consequences. For all she knew, he’d given her a STD as some form of payback for making him look like a fool in the courtroom. 

It would be the end of her legal career if anyone found out. 

_Zara._

It wasn’t exactly sex-etiquette to think about the  _innocent_  victim she was defending merely hours after having sex, but the thought made Claire glance over slowly to make sure he was still awake, and when she tried to scoot away and off the -- 

_What the fuck?_

Owen Grady had decided that, at some point during the night, it was suddenly his job to  _drape_  his arm over her waist, holding her firmly next to him. He was practically holding her prisoner, but  _not_  against her own will. 

Carefully, Claire reached over and wrapped her thin grip around his wrist before she tried to lift his arm, growling when she lost her hold and his arm smacked her waist. 

Fucker.

With some maneuvering, Claire was able to slip out of his bed minutes later before she rushed to gather her clothes, which were strung across his apartment.

She had a vague memory of which route the cab driver had taken from the bar back to his apartment and, if she had remembered correctly, it wasn’t far from hers. Which, if karma was on her side, would be pure luck considering they had to be in court an hour later. 

So much for preparing any sort of game plan. She would only have enough time to debrief with Lowry, her legal aid, before filling Zara in. 

If there had ever been a day to be Wonder Woman, she needed the strength for it today. 

 

* * *

 

 

“Members of the jury, I ask you to remember the reason you’re here; to decide on a legal case in which a woman will get the freedom to live comfortably, and that she’ll see a man who has thus ruined her life have his own trampled on, as well.” 

Claire strode gracefully before the jurors’ box with one hand perched on her waist while the other clicked through the slideshow she presented. She couldn’t help but notice the slight twinge of pain every time she took a step, but knew the bruises on her thighs weren’t helping. 

“As I have presented to you today, Simon Masrani was no victim in this game. You’ve seen the emails, you’ve listened to the voicemails, and you have even witnessed the video evidence that has proved, without a reasonable doubt, these two men have committed criminal acts.” Claire turned towards Zara and tossed her a wink before she furthered her glare, narrowing in on Simon and Vic all while avoiding Owen’s gaze. “I’m asking you to fine these two men for ruining this woman’s life. Give her back her freedom.”

As she ended the prosecution’s case, handing it over to the defense, Claire took her seat beside Zara as she reached over to squeeze the woman’s hand. “We’ve got this.” 

“Ladies and Gentlemen of the jury,” Judge Krill began with a short nod, “the prosecution rests their case. Court will recess until Monday morning at eight, when the defense will begin. Please arrive promptly. Until then, you are dismissed.” Claire, along with the men of the defense, stood as the members of the jury were escorted out of the room. It didn't take long until all that remained where the two parties and the residing judge. 

Claire shot a quick glance in Owen’s direction, simply to see if he was looking at her, before she focused her attention on Zara.

“I will be sure to get in touch with you over the weekend if anything changes, and if you need anything, don’t hesitate to call.” 

_Even though I have other cases._

She barely hesitated in leaving the courtroom as she made a quick dash across the campus to her office, sighing in relief when she arrived without any unwelcome visitors. All she wanted was to take her heels off, shimmy out of her tights, and listen to some music.

Beethoven was on the agenda, for the day. 

Scratch that. Melissa Etheridge. 

As she kicked off her heels and let her aching feet remember what it felt like to walk on carpet, Claire hardly wasted a moment in setting her sights on getting comfortable, stripping of her tights and throwing them towards her leather bag that would eventually accompany her home. 

A firm knock on the door shook her from her thoughts, but she knew she wasn’t expecting any interruptions; she had a meeting over the weekend, but as far as she knew, they weren’t arriving  _today_.

Claire padded over to the door and slowly pulled it open to reveal none other than Owen Grady himself. 

“Look what the cat dragged over,” she snarked, rolling her eyes. Though, she felt the sneaking hypocrisy sneak into her mind the moment she spoke.  _She_  was the one who had snuck out of his apartment before Owen even had the chance to wake. 

Did that mean she had done the walk of shame? 

Fuck that. 

She wouldn’t deny the sex they’d had was killer, but she wasn't exactly looking to express that to  _him_.

“You know, I could say the same to you,” he growled and budged his way into her office, sidling around her as she slowly shut the door. 

“Sure, Owen, come on in. What can I help you with?” She cocked her head to the side with the false-sense of appreciation setting in her tone. He was the last person she wanted to talk to after a long day, especially if he wanted to talk about the previous night. 

“What the fuck was this morning?”

Why couldn’t he have waited another day to ask that, at least until she could bet money on it? There went an easy paycheck. 

Yet, the more his words laced into her thoughts, the more Claire was considering what it  _wasn’t._ They’d had the disastrous date two years prior, but the night before... it wasn’t exactly what she’d call a disaster. 

It was actually  _nice._  Maybe that was just the part of her brain that was  _still_ feeling the blissful high.

“What, did you expect me to stay? Maybe have breakfast together?” Claire scoffed at the idea. “Come on, Grady, you and I don’t work like that. It’s the same as two years ago. We had a date, we fucked, we moved on. The end.” 

But, the way he was looking at her meant  _anything_  but moving on. 

Which was worrisome. 

“Don’t tell me that’s what you believe, Claire...” He stepped towards her as a smirk grew at the corner of his lips, threatening to tear into a smile. How had it already been  _less than_  twenty-four hours and he was desperate to fuck her again? The look on her face when he had finally thrusted inside her was --  _ah,_ fuck. Well, it was no longer a secret that thinking about her caused him to become hard.

Claire backed until she collided with the door, gasping quietly as she watched him stalk her like prey; Owen’s eyes darkened and his pupils dilated, and he looked like he was only moments away from ripping the rest of her clothes off her body. He was strong, dominant, and she hated to admit that she  _wanted_  it from him. Claire wanted to push him like she had the night before, begging him to hold off on coming until they both could, intensifying the moment by tenfold, as she felt him throb inside her. 

The moment he closed the last inch of space between them, his hand was already cupping her waist and reaching for the zip on the side of her skirt while fingering the top button on her shirt with the other as he toyed with the idea of ripping each button. But that would take too much energy.

Energy he could save for fucking her.

“All you have to say is that you don’t want this,” he breathed, pressing his lips to her jaw, waiting to hear her speak. He would stop, pull back, and walk right out of her office if she didn’t want this.

If she didn’t want  _him._

But from the way she moaned his name until she was breathless the night before... it was obvious she did. Maybe she’d changed her mind -- it was her right to -- but he had his doubts. Nonetheless, he waited, flicking his tongue across her neck, warming the areas he’d cooled with his lips. Owen was dangerously close to lifting her and fucking her against any solid surface; her desk, the wall, even the filing cabinet would do. 

_Fuck, fuck, fuck._

_Please, for fuck’s sake, don’t give me two fucking options._ She needed  _one_ option.  _Give me one goddamn choice; to have you._

That’s what she craved. Claire didn’t want him to let her  _choose_ , she wanted to be told. She wanted to be able to bask in the glory of giving him the ego-stroke of  _ordering_ her around. Ultimately, she wanted him to lift her, move to the desk, and fuck her until she wasn’t able to speak. 

Before she could give her answer -- to tell him that she wanted what they had the night before -- Owen backed away, dropped both hands, and sighed.

“Either say you want it or don't, but I’m not going to stick around to play fucking games, Claire. So choose. What the fuck do you want?” 

“I -- I want...” 

* * *

A humongous thank you to my raptor dream-team: @amelias-obsessions, @clawengradearings-world, @poeticandvaguelysweet, @captainandbucky, @lannisterslioness, @verxxotle, @cali-forniacationn, @endearing-claire, @firestarter91, @all--the--dancers, and I’m sure there are so many of you that I’m forgetting to tag, and I profusely apologize.

 


	3. Turning A Leaf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So... I don't exactly know how we're on chapter three all ready, but I'm so fucking glad that we're here. I want to give a huge shoutout to those who have attached themselves to this story and are refusing to let go. Y'all are so lovely. I just updated and, while I was hesitant to post another chapter because I didn't want to disappoint, I decided to anyways. Things are starting to change for our yin and yang, and I am thrilled to see how this chapter changes the outcome for them. I wanted to mention that I'll be posting a new Clawen story tonight, and I'd love if y'all would check it out. Hearts On The Homefront will be posted tonight! Enjoy!

_“I think I’ve figured you out, Claire Dearing. You want passion and adventure, but above all else, you want that tiny speck of danger.” He smirked carefully, watching her every move. “Or do you want more than the tiniest bit? Do you want everything I have to offer?”_

 

* * *

Claire woke with a startled twist as her gaze shot to the door, basking in the familiarity of her bedroom as she grabbed for the pillow next to her, the same she’d been cuddling all night, and pulled it flush against her chest. She’d dreamt about the  _accident_  again. She’d watched her parents die right before her eyes for what felt like the first time.

For years after the accident, Karen had gone through a great deal to take her to several of the best child psychiatrists in the state who all said the same thing; it would be unlikely that she would retain those memories for her entire life. What they failed to grasp was the impact it took on Claire. 

There was hardly a night where she didn’t dream about it, and she’d found that none of the pills she’d tried had helped. Sleeping medication only made her sleep  _longer_ , which lengthened the night-mares, and the pills that batted anxiety and depression only subdued  _her_ , not the  _thoughts_. Doctors thought she was an enigma; Claire thought she’d gone crazy. It wasn't until she was battling her way through high school when the new diagnosis hit the market. 

Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. 

She tried her best to shake the thoughts from her mind, ridding of the tendrils that held onto the lingering bits of the dream, trying to put them back together. It certainly wasn’t the first time Claire had woken to thirteen missed calls from Karen, seven which happened to be voicemails, and she had the sneaking suspicion it wouldn’t be the last. 

“ _Claire, hi, it’s your sister. Remember me, the one you were supposed to have breakfast with this morning? Listen, I just made it to the diner and you’ll never believe who I saw. The_ dipshit _, that’s who I ran into, and I just have to say you have a lot of explaining to do, especially regarding why you’re not here, sitting across from me. So much for meeting for breakfast, you little_ \--” 

Claire pulled the phone away from her ear and hastily smushed her thumb against the screen, successfully erasing the message before her life was threatened. Then, with her jaw clenched tightly, she began to plan out the slew of insults she would throw at Owen when she surprised him, either at his office or by phone; but she preferred the former just so she could bask in the glory of his reaction to her ass-kicking. 

Who did he think he was, giving her  _sister_  information about what they’d been up to? Besides, it was  _one_  night. One  _fucking_  night they'd had. Well, unless the night before could be counted? It wasn’t a sleep-over, to be honest.

It was more of an  _office party_ for two. 

She didn’t  _need_  him, but she’d be lying if she denied the nightmares had been kept at bay the night she’d been curled next to Owen in  _his_  bed, breathing in  _his_ scent, the one that smelled like manly soap and after-shave. The worst part was that she wasn’t going to stop thinking about him. She didn’t have the restrain to keep him off her mind, and thinking about him only led to...  _other_  things,  _sexual_ in nature that did  _not_ need to be the first accomplishment on a Saturday morning. 

Instead, she could go for a run. 

Claire pulled herself from the tangled sheets and moved across the room to stand in front of her dresser, twisting at the waist to loosen up. It’d been a week (read: a month) since she’d gone for a run, and stretching wasn’t the worst idea. 

Before long, she’d finished typing out a dramatically long text to Karen, reciting the ever boring ‘I overslept, I’ll make it up to you next weekend!’ line that she’d fed to her sister a time too many, and was tying the laces to her running shoes when her phone began to ring. Without glancing at the screen, Claire squeezed the small button on her earbuds between her thumb and forefinger and laughed quietly. “It’s funny you called, I literally  _just_ sent you a text.” 

Silence filled the other line before the deep laugh filtered through. “And why were you texting me, Claire?” Owen mused. 

 _Oh, for fuck’s sake,_  she groaned to herself. It was just like him to catch her when she was already having a shitty start to her morning. “Unless you suddenly formed a vagina over night and changed your name to Karen, then I guess I  _wasn’t_  texting you.” 

“The reasoning is fair enough. Have you thought any more about my proposition from last night?”

No. No she hadn’t. 

That was a lie. Of course she’d thought about it. After he left her reeling from the intensity he brought to the table, Claire had struggled to drive home and make it through the front door, much less shower and get into bed while maintaining a clear head... and keeping herself out of trouble. 

He wasn’t good for her. Owen Grady wasn’t a one-woman kind of man, that much he had proved when they’d fallen into the same bed two years before and the next night caught him at the bar with someone else. It sucked, sure, but they hadn’t been  _committed._  For fuck’s sake they’d hardly spoken much past “ _do you have a condom with you_?” 

The end result being he would  _never_  be good for her. 

“Claire? Are you still there?” 

As much as she wanted to mute her line and hang up without acknowledging the question, Claire let out a strangled sigh and shook her head. “No, I don’t have an answer for you, yet. Plus, I don’t think we should be doing  _this_  while we’re still battling it out in court. The first time someone finds out that we slept together and the case could be dismissed. Do you really want to think about what Vic Hoskins would do to you if he found out you had sex with  _me_?” Why was she trying to save him grief? 

“Put aside the fact that it  _could_  be a conflict of interest, what would your answer be then?” Owen sighed and dragged a hand through his thick hair while he worked to push the nagging, incessant need to have her under him to the back of his mind. It wasn’t often that he found himself this torn over a woman -- or ever, to be honest -- but he wanted her. 

He  _needed_ Claire. 

Something about her made sense. In a world where not much was guaranteed, she made it seem... decent. Made it seem like he wasn’t working towards a futile cause, and he’d be damned if giving her space meant he would speak to her again. 

But, he still would make good on his promise from the previous night, if she indicated that it’s what she wanted. If Claire wanted nothing to do with him, he would leave her alone. She’d never have to see him after this case. 

And that wasn’t exactly something she was willing to wager. 

“I’m not exactly the dating type, Owen, and no offense, but you don’t strike me as that kind of guy, either.” 

It was true, he wasn’t. Or, at least he hadn’t been in the past. In high school and college he never cared much for being exclusive; there were too many women who caught his eye, he wanted to try all the flavors instead of being tied to  _one_ for a foreseeable future. Unfortunately, he’d still been in that phase when he met Claire the first time two years before. He’d barely been out of law school for an entire year at the time and he wasn’t looking to be tied down.

Clearly, he hadn’t changed much between high school, college, and getting a  _real_  job. But that didn’t mean he  _couldn’t._

“Before you say anything more, let me take you on a date? I’m sure I don’t seem like  _that_ kind of guy, either, but I promise it’ll be a nice night. All you have to do is say yes and be ready to go by, say, eight tonight?” 

Did he sound  _hopeful_?

Claire bit into her bottom lip while debating his question, chomping away until she felt the slight twinge of pain and rolled her tongue across the indents in the flesh, grimacing at the slightest metallic taste that hit her tastebuds. “Fine, Owen, I’ll go on a date with you, but not because you’re peer-pressuring me, but because I want to get out of my apartment  _and_ because my sister might come over and cause bodily harm any time during the day.” 

“Oh, your sister...  _Karen,_ right?” He had the slightest apprehension in his voice as he spoke, and Claire automatically noticed. 

“Yeah...”

She was met with silence for what seemed like an hour. Finally, when Claire picked up her phone to check if the called had dropped, Owen returned on the other end.

“I might’ve hit on her this morning at the diner.” 

_Oy vey._

 

* * *

 

 

“No, wait,  _wait!”_ Claire threw her head back with shrill laughter as she felt his heated gaze settling on her, causing her to straighten moments later. “You can’t start a story and then just abruptly stop without finishing!” 

“Oh, I can’t?” Owen glanced over in her direction before adjusting his gaze back to the road, switching between two hands on the wheel and casually resting one on the gear shift. When would she get the hint? 

Apparently never, since he wasn’t the greatest at giving them. 

Dinner had gone well, better than he’d expected, considering Owen thought he’d get up close and personal with her right hook bearing in mind what he’d said about her sister earlier the same morning. 

It wasn’t his fault he’d forgotten -- for a split second -- what Karen looked like. He’d barely met her once and it was only by odd coincidence when she caught him sneaking out of  _her_  house the morning after he and Claire had hooked up a few years before. Maybe that was why she’d given him the death glare when he saw her at the diner that same morning. 

 _Fuck._  It all made sense now. 

As a result of actually hitting it off at dinner, Claire hadn’t battled him for too long when he asked to drive her home, simply because it was dark out, nearing midnight, and her apartment wasn’t in the greatest area in town. 

Once again, student loans proved to be a bitch. 

Yet, Claire would be absolutely lying if she had admitted that she  _thought_  the night would’ve been this... blissful? Dinner was filled with nothing but constant conversation and they’d never once talked about the case they were currently sparring over in the courtroom. Sure,  _other_  cases came up, both in the past and current, but not a single word about  _Hoskins v. Young._

Which was a relief. 

So, when Owen had asked if he could drive her home, she hardly had a reason to say no. Another twenty minutes of conversation wouldn’t hurt and, at the least, she could invite him inside for a cup of coffee and dessert. 

The rest of the drive quieted compared to earlier in the evening, but it wasn’t offsetting like one would think and, before either knew it, he was pulling into an empty spot outside her complex. Claire hardly wasted a second in unbuckling herself and slipping from the cab of his truck to round the back before meeting him. Whatever caused her to slip her hand into his, lacing their fingers together was  _completely_  beyond her own understanding. 

On the other hand, Owen was  _not_  questioning it. 

Honestly, it was the one part of the night he’d been waiting for the most. He’d literally seen  _every_  part of her, felt himself deep inside of her, and yet he still didn’t know what her hand felt like against his. Was the palm of her hand smooth from the lotion he’d seen sitting on the desk inside her office? Of course, he’d felt her hands scour his body, but he hadn’t taken the time to notice if her fingertips had callouses etched into the imprint. 

He sighed quietly as she led him along the sidewalk to the east wing of the building before she worked to dig around in the unending, bottomless purse for her spare keys. 

This was  _so_ not happening...  _again._

With a quick glance in his direction, Owen caught on immediately. “Do  _not_  look at me, I don’t have them. Besides, whether you choose to believe it or not, I didn’t  _steal_ your keys from your bag that day. I found them on the floor in the court room and figured you would need them. Consider it a civil service that I returned them to  _you_  instead of lost and found.” 

Claire scoffed at his smooth cover up but was relieved when she did find them. The last thing she needed was to be locked out of her apartment. Once she let them inside, Claire heard the undeniable and familiar sound of her St. Bernard’s paws clicking along the tile floor, running straight towards them. 

“Owen, watch --” 

It was far too late to stop the collision once he turned and saw the rather enormous fur-covered  _animal_  galloping toward them, so Owen merely crouched down and took the onslaught of slobbery licks, all while trying to hold his mouth closed through the laughter. 

“Bleu! Off, girl!” Claire growled in frustration as the St. Bernard disobeyed her, all until she jammed two fingers into her mouth and whistled on a level that  _only_  dogs could hear. The change was instant. The year-old _, one-hundred_  pound dog went from mauling Owen with affection to sitting, ready for the next command. 

All while Owen was still flat on his back, staring up at Claire, slightly terrified of moving. 

“Damn,” he mumbled a minute later, clearly impressed with the skills she had with her canine. 

Without another word, Claire lifted her hand and pointed to the other side of the room where her dog bed lay in the corner, and Bleu hardly let grass grow under her paws, making it to the foam in record-time. 

“I’m sorry. I don’t know why she’s acting up, she’s never like that when I walk through the door.” Claire stepped towards him before she extended a hand to help him up, laughing quietly as he stood. She reached out to brush off his chest, frowning at the white and brown hairs that stood out against his black button-down. 

Owen shook off her comment before he pulled her closer, smirking down at her. Had he mentioned how he  _loved_ that she was shorter, even when wearing heels? “Don’t be sorry, she’s clearly excited to meet someone new, that’s all.” 

Well, when he explained it like that it made sense. Go figure. 

“Now, how about that coffee you promised?” 

 

* * *

 

 

“I’ve never felt so outsmarted in my life, Claire, I swear. It was like the entire room was judging me, and I had nowhere to run,” Owen laughed, bringing the mug up to his lips before draining the last sip from the  _third_  cup of coffee.

Claire, on the other hand, couldn’t stop herself from giggling in-spite of his story, and she hadn't missed the _smile_ that crossed his features. An actual, genuine smile. Before she missed her chance to tease him, Claire leaned over to poke his side. “You were  _intimidated_ by a class of third-graders?” 

In his defense, they were from a private school in the suburbs, but it hardly made a difference. The story was still one-of-a-kind, and Claire would never look at him the same way again. 

She quieted and stretched her legs along the length of the couch, pressing them behind his back in search of a warm place to keep them. It’d been two hours since he’d been attacked by her very large and  _very_  affectionate dog, and while he was enjoying himself more than he’d ever thought possible, he could tell with one look that Claire was barely keeping herself awake. 

Although, he would’ve liked to been the cause of her lethargic state, complete with hooded eyes, he couldn’t help but to smile as she fought to keep her eyes settled on him. 

“I think,” he exhaled softly, glancing down at his watch, “that it’s time I get going. It’s going on one-thirty and  _you_  look like you could use some sleep.” 

“Are you trying to insult me? Because, I’m immune to your fiery words, I’ll have you know,” she breathed, slurring her words slightly regardless of not having a single ounce of alcohol in her system. 

Sleep-deprivation was a strange, strange thing.

“Wait, you’re going to leave?” She furrowed her eyebrows into a single, tight-knit line and worry skewed her expression. “You can’t drive home now, it’s too late, and Bleu will be sad if you leave.” 

_I’ll be sad._

Owen laughed at her overanalyzing and shook his head, reaching for her hand to help her from the couch and to her bed. If he left her laying on the couch, he was certain she wouldn’t get up during the night and drag herself to bed. 

Someone had to do the messy work. 

Working against time, he gently looped her arm around his neck before he settled for scooping her into his arms before starting down the hallway, careful not to whack her head or any of her limbs against any doorframe or wall. 

Which wasn’t nearly as big of an issue as trying not to laugh at her incoherent sentences. Had she been this way the night he took her home? 

Had they even spoken throughout sex? After listening to her talk for the entire evening, Owen couldn’t fathom  _not_  wanting to listen to her speak, even when she was muttering random words. 

For a moment she woke, just as he lay her down in bed and was working on gently tugging the sheets down so he could slide her legs underneath. 

“Owen... don’t leave.” Her voice was barely a whisper and for a moment Owen thought he’d dreamt the words, until she reached out for his hand and he looked down to see her eyes open. They were hooded but he’d recognize her green orbs any day. 

He sighed and squeezed her hand before crouching down beside the bed. “Claire, it’s late, and you need to sleep.”

“But, I won’t sleep as good as I did when I was with you a few nights ago. I don’t think I’ve slept that soundly in  _years_.” 

Maybe it was the fact that she had actually slept horribly since the start of the trial -- and for most of her adult life -- or that she had a glimpse of how sleeping next to someone could relax her into an almost-coma. Either way, she wanted him to stay and, in her drowsy state, Claire was  _not_  above begging. 

Owen, on the other hand, didn’t want to give in. The night was  _different_ , and he wasn’t willing to risk fucking it up before she went back to hating him the next morning. But, those eyes... he couldn’t deny her when she turned her bottom lip into a pout. 

Before Owen knew what had taken over him, he was kicking out of his black, patten-leather loafers and popping the button on his jeans only to shrug out of them, leaving the material to pile on the floor. Owen gently pushed her legs towards the middle of the bed before he slid in next to her, hesitant to rest his head. 

“Relax,” she mumbled with a soft laugh, “I’m not going to attack you in the middle of the night.”  

“I wouldn’t mind if you did.” 

What was coming over him? Owen hadn’t been  _this_  guy before. He was staying because he  _wanted_  to, and there wasn’t a single guarantee that he would  _get_  anything out of it. Forget sex, she was a minute from falling into a coma that she wouldn’t wake from for  _at least_  ten hours. 

Then there was the next morning.

Was he going to stick around, or would he quietly gather his clothes, get dressed, and sneak out before she woke up? Were they past that point? Was there even a  _point_  they’d made it to, yet? 

They were surely at -- or past? -- the friendly stage, which was still confusing him. How’d they get here in such a short amount of time? And  _why_?

Owen was feet deep in thought before he noticed that she’d reached up to cup his jaw, rubbing her thumb across his slight stubble. He’d mostly forgotten to shave before leaving to pick her up earlier in the night, but when she’d disclosed at dinner that she preferred scruff to a clean shave, he knew it had scored him points. 

“Are you petting me, or...” His lips quirked at the corners before she leaned into hush him. 

“Stop talking.” 

“Go to sleep, and I will.” 

The playful argument continued back and forth with slight pauses every time Claire would fall into a light sleep only to wake up seconds later. 

“If you promise to stay...” Claire started but her eyes fluttered closed seconds later, leaving her breathing to soften as she drifted to sleep. 

Owen leaned over to press his lips to her temple with a smile. “I’ll stay,” he whispered before closing his eyes, joining her in sleep. 

* * *

 

A humongous thank you to my raptor dream-team: @amelias-obsessions, @clawengradearings-world, @poeticandvaguelysweet, @captainandbucky, @lannisterslioness, @verxxotle, @cali-forniacationn, @endearing-claire, @firestarter91, @all--the--dancers, and I’m sure there are so many of you that I’m forgetting to tag, and I profusely apologize.

 

* * *

 

 


	4. Death (And All Its Friends)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: First, I just want to give the biggest shoutout and all of my love (including my first-born child) to @dealingdreams for the drop-dead, gorgeous graphic/novel cover that she made for BTL. I am still in awe and pinching myself because it’s so fucking beautiful. You can find that below. Second, I really don’t know how this is only chapter four because I feel like I’ve been writing BTL for years at the point, but this chapter really got to me and made me hunker down to write it because it was not going to write itself, goddamnit. So, I apologize for the endless messages I posted that alluded to it coming along, but here it is and that’s all that matters. Put those pitchforks away, y’all! They aren’t needed... not tonight, at least.

__

_"I will never hurt you against your will. I will never ask you to do anything that i would never accept in return. I want to earn the control you’ll give to me. Let me show you.”_

* * *

Since their night spent together merely two days before, it was needless to admit that he had grown accustomed to seeing her. The morning after they spent the night in her bed, merely curled in the other’s embrace, Owen had  _stayed_. They had laughed over shared coffee and bagels, courtesy of the coffee-shop that was a block away from her apartment, and once the morning had escaped their grasp, the rest of the day was history, too. Neither wanted to jinx it, nor  _speak_ it, but the  _proper_  date seemed to have rekindled the past relationship neither thought they could have. 

He had accepted the unspoken invitation to spend the night the next night with the promise of parting early enough in the morning so each could prepare separately for the day in court. Claire had morning rituals that she wanted to have time for and Owen was one to  _always_  run in the morning, and if he skipped too many days there would be hellish consequences to pay. 

 _Something_  woke Owen in the late hours of the night. He was unsure if it were strange noises from inside her apartment or the fact that it was so cold it would turn his dick blue (to match his blue balls,  _of course_ ), but when he rolled over to notice his phone lit up, he saw the digital time staring straight at him. 3 _:36 AM._

Why the  _fuck_  anyone would call him in the middle of the fucking night was beyond him, and he would have ignored the message had he not seen who the caller was. 

_Vic Hoskins._

Unsure whether or not he wanted to risk Claire waking up in the middle of a conversation with her arch-nemesis, Owen settled for shooting him a quick text to inquire about the faux booty-call. At some point between texting and waiting for a response, Owen had dozed off again. The next time he was woken, it was for different circumstances. This time, instead of his brain playing evil mind-games, he  _knew_ he heard something. It wasn’t exactly a sound he’d committed to memory, not one like the sound of coffee brewing when the automatic timer was set, or the sound of crickets chirping in the summer months at dusk. 

Without opening his eyes, he reached behind him, the last place he  _remembered_ feeling Claire lay (mainly because her knees were  _digging_  into his back) only to be met with a warm sheet, the indent of her body still fresh in the material. 

It felt like she never had a full night’s rest, but she would’ve been lying had she claimed that when he slept in her bed  _with_  her it was anything but relaxing. The memories weren’t there to tangle into her dreams because she was thinking of  _him_ , kissing  _him_ , just before sleep reached up and tangled her into its grasp. It was a different story when she had woken to see Owen’s phone illuminated,  _5:06 AM,_ blinding her in its wake, and after a quick trip to relieve herself, the enticing smell of coffee elicited her from the bedroom. Not only could she  _surprise_  him with coffee in bed, but coffee came with kisses, so it was a win-win for both. 

The moment she flicked the TV on while waiting for the rest of the pot to brew (mainly so she could sneak in a  _second_ cup before he even got his first) Claire couldn’t tear her eyes away from the screen. She must have stood there for twenty minutes until she felt his lips press against the back of her neck, a sleepy grin pressed into her skin. “Owen,” she breathed, eyes still glued to the screen even as her hand snaked back to touch his waist and frowned at the feeling of his shirt. He barely flinched when Claire whispered his name for the second time, and a third, before she deliberately took a step forward, causing the fiery assault to disappear altogether. 

He didn’t need to question what happened when his eyes followed her gaze to the television. Owen barely remembered but he scanned over the words five, six,  _seven_  times before he could begin to comprehend what this meant. The next moments seemed to slow to a sixth of normal speed as his gaze snapped from the words to the reporter who seemed to be standing in front of the court-house, the same that held Claire’s office and one of the many courtrooms they battled day in and day out. Until he reached a point where he was able to stomach reading the words, he focused on the reporter’s furrowed brow and the thick crease that pressed between the two solid black lines. There, in bold font, read his worst nightmare. 

Zara Young, twenty-seven,  _dead._

Time stood still. From the moment it took Claire to cross the room, running straight for the bathroom, Owen didn’t move. Hell, he hardly recognized if he had blinked in the time it took for Claire to return, her red locks pulled into a bun at the top of her head, eyes red and hardly more than slits as she squinted, a poor attempt to block the tears from escaping. Another minute passed and Owen still hadn’t moved toward her as she stood feet away, one hand clasped over her mouth as the other pressed firmly against her chest, all fingers hiding beneath the neck of the stretched shirt. 

From the night before to now the change was known. They’d been living in a fantasy, one where there was not a single soul in the outside world that could possibly hurt them. Everything had been blissful. There had been multiple times where Claire had playfully shoved at his chest, successfully knocking his lips away from her skin only to give herself a moment to breathe, to question if any of it was real. She remembered asking him why everything had clicked  _now_  and not two years before when they’d gone on the disastrous date. “ _You had just gotten out of a relationship that left you jaded, of course it wasn’t going to work out,”_ he had told her between kisses just as he trailed his lips to her jaw, down her neck, across her clavicle before she had gripped his chin and redirected his lips to meet hers. Now even as they stood in the same room, they were on opposite ends of the universe.

“You need to leave.” 

The words formed on the tip of her tongue before Claire had any semblance of a chance at catching up. Her mind took over without permission as she spoke, and the look on Owen’s face as he turned to face her was as if he’d seen a ghost. 

“Claire, I had nothing to do with this, I swear to you. I --” He was painfully cut off as she turned and walked away from him without another word, slamming the bedroom door shut to punctuate her request. It wasn’t a question, she hadn’t asked kindly; she was simply making a demand. There wasn’t enough oxygen in the entire apartment for herself, and in order to survive, he had to leave.

* * *

 

The drive back to his apartment was torturous. Every red light he hit was another angry slice in his skin, reminding him that he had walked away from Claire the very first time she spoke. He hadn’t questioned her decision, or tried to change her mind much past claiming he had no involvement in her death. It was needless to say that he understood why she couldn’t look at him -- they were supposed to be  _enemies_  -- and yet if she would have stood there for a second longer there was no telling what could have happened. Owen only wanted to be there to comfort her, but he knew all too well that she didn’t need to seek comfort in him.

The news that was quaking the entire town had surfaced on every single news outlet for far longer than Owen had been awake, yet once he returned to his apartment and flicked the TV on, he couldn't ignore the statements the media was making. Nor could he ignore his phone ringing off the hook, all which he had successfully directed to voicemail. There were several missed calls from Hoskins, which included a message, one he wasn’t particularly looking forward to listening to as well as an unfamiliar number, which could have been a member of the press calling for a statement. 

Owen didn’t want to give a goddamn statement. The  _only_  thing he wanted was to spend the morning with an inconsolable Claire, and even he couldn’t make that happen. Just as he started to slip into his thoughts once more, he felt his phone vibrating in his pocket and he yanked it from the restraint before glaring at the screen.  _Claire._  

“Claire, please, just come --” 

She cleared her throat before cutting him off, “I just wanted to warn you that Judge Krill is going to be calling you. There’s a meeting at the court house in an hour.”  _I need to be with you, but I can’t be._  She was being pulled in two directions, but even Claire knew they shouldn’t have started  _this._  It was forbidden, and they could lose their licenses for thinking otherwise. However, Claire found herself wondering if it mattered anymore? Would anyone bat an eyelash if they found out they’d slept together, now that the case was over? Would they assume the worst if they found out she was  _enjoying_  his company? 

Owen sighed heavily and leaned against the wall for support, letting his head hang back. “Can we please talk in private after?” It was the simplest request, one he hoped she would agree to but would understand if she denied him.

She sniffled through the tears and he recognized that she was still crying.  _Had she even stopped?_ “This morning has already been hard enough, Owen, please don’t make it worse.” And like a light, she was gone, the end of the line silent and he had no other choice than to lower his hand as he mulled the idea of how long it would be until he could talk to her.

* * *

 

Fighting her way through the crowd of reporters outside the courthouse was like struggling through an arena of hunger-crazed animals who were one growl away from tearing through her flesh. No one wanted to let her through, and each was set on getting her cornered to assault with words. One minute she had her arm outstretched and was trying her best to plow through the toppling crowd and the next warm fingers had laced through hers and were helping to pull her through the struggle. 

There was no question in who it was; Claire would forever recognize  _those_ hands, not to mention the intoxicating musk of his cologne that bled into her veins, knocking her off balance for longer than she could wrap her mind around. One minute she was trying to sort through the crowd to find a walkway to get  _inside_  the courthouse, and the next Owen had already tugged her through a back door and they were standing in the middle of what she presumed to be an office.  _Wait, is this his office?_ She pulled her hand from his before the grass could grow under her feet, but before Claire could make the first move away from him he gingerly reached out to grasp her wrist. 

“Please, hear me out, Claire.” Owen was desperate and it was audible in the tone he held; he would only be gentle, yet firm, when talking. He only wanted to be heard, to give his side of the story. As much as she  _wanted_  to give him the time of day to talk, Claire knew that they couldn’t be seen together, and if that meant  _ignoring_  him to ensure they wouldn’t be questioned, it’s what she was willing to do. 

Instead she shook her head and took a careful step back, eyeing the room around them. Did he have any idea how much she wanted to kiss him? Or let him embrace her and to hold her close, let her sob for the loss of not only a client but someone she’d grown a  _friendship_  with? “Stop.” It wasn’t right, they couldn’t do this, but Claire couldn’t let him go on thinking  _she_ thought he had involvement in Zara’s death. 

Owen stalked to the opposite side of the room and thrusted a hand into his golden locks as a strangled sigh escaped him. “I was in a complete panic the entire drive home this morning because I couldn’t believe I’d just  _left_ without fighting for you, or to tell you that I knew nothing,” he started, finally turning towards her.

“What made you think I wanted you to  _fight_  for me?” Claire scoffed but fought to stifle a smirk that perked at the corner of her lips. After another moment of silence she sighed and stepped towards him, letting her defenses partially down. “I know you had no involvement, I spoke to the medical examiner.” 

Little did she know, he had too. 

“The examiner said she didn’t suffer,” he began as he closed the distance and reached for her waist, pulling her closer in the same breath. If there was one thing he knew, it was the fact that Claire knew just as much as he did of Zara’s death and, knowing her bold personality, most likely knew  _more_ , too. 

Claire nodded against his chest as she lifted her arms to wrap around his neck, pulling him impossibly closer. But when it wasn’t as close as she’d like and she whimpered quietly, it was as if she’d spoken the magic words. Instantly, his hands reached to cup her thighs as he lifted her and walked only a matter of feet over to the desk in the corner, kicking the chair out so he could sit down, bringing her to sit in his lap. 

When was it going to hit her again? Claire didn’t feel that she’d cried all of her tears; right now she just felt numb, void of feeling anything. “I don’t know what’s happening right now. How did  _this_  happen?” They were going to win; Claire had promised Zara she’d have the life she  _deserved_. That, for the rest of her life, she wouldn’t have to worry about money to support herself; she could do whatever the hell she wanted with her life. She could travel the world and mark city after city off her bucket list. The possibilities were endless. 

“I promise, we’ll figure this out,” he breathed, pressing his lip to her temple, her hair, her cheek and jaw before finally kissing his way to her lips. What was there to figure out, though? 

Zara was gone. Zara had killed herself.

* * *

 

Owen had been wary to let Claire leave by herself but, as promised, he would meet her at her apartment later in the night. After an entire day spent in court, first alone with Judge Krill and Owen, then later with the jury, all she truly wanted was to be alone for an hour, maybe two. To give herself time to truly digest the day. They could sort out  _things_  later. But, when she stepped inside her apartment to the eery quietness of being  _alone_ , it only took the goosebumps to rise across her body before she was texting Owen, asking him to come earlier. 

She walked deeper into her apartment to find Bleu laying on her bed and merely rolled her eyes, using exhaustion as an excuse to not bother getting the dog off her bed. It was useless, really. Instead, she ditched her satchel on the kitchen counter until she noticed the small, white envelope fall to the ground.

The same one Zara’s mother had slipped to her just as she stepped out of the courthouse, contemplating the rest of her career until the woman had yanked her from the nightmare. Fingering the ivory paper, she flipped it over and slid her finger beneath the lip, tearing it until she could grasp the paper and began to read.

_Claire,_

_I’m so sorry for what I’m leaving you with; for making you suffer this pain. The day you signed on to defend my honor, I thought I was living a dream. You’re a badass, a superstar, and you never once looked at me like I was any different than you. You never saw the wheelchair that bounded me, or the restrictions that held me back in life; you just saw a woman who was desperate to gain her life back.  
_

_I am forever sorry for the pain that you’re in, and the mess I’m leaving you with, but it’s too hard to fight this fight any longer. Please accept the money I’ve left with my parents to pay you for the case you’ve put forward thus far, and please know that this was never intended to fall back on you._

_\-- Zara_

She didn’t notice when the tears had started welling in her eyes or the moment they began to cascade down her cheeks, creating wells in her skin that refused to close. Nor did Claire realize that Owen had already let himself in and was standing in front of her, a concerned expression coating his features until he gently took the letter from her hands and read it. 

“Oh, Claire.” His voice wasn’t condescending, he wasn’t there to talk about the case or what Vic Hoskins had said that caused him  _punch_  the man. Talk about a right hook. He discarded the paper and stepped closer, pulling Claire into his arms as she began to cry, sobbing harder and faster than she could pull in air. Owen lifted her into his arms, a repeat from earlier in the day, and began to carry her back to her bedroom, pushing the door open with his foot and over to the bed to sit, nearly crushing Bleu in the process. 

“Down, girl,” he growled and watched as she jumped from the mattress, tail between her legs as she collapsed in the corner on her foam bed. 

Concentrating on the woman in his arms, Owen pulled her into his lap and held her close, peppering his lips gently to her temple, whispering quiet noises in an attempt to soothe her, not expecting her to speak in return. He would do anything and  _everything_ she wanted if it meant that she would be okay.  

What he didn’t expect was for Claire to sober so quickly as her hands snaked beneath his t-shirt, scratching across his lower stomach.  _No._ “Claire, what are you doing?” 

“You know that night,” she didn't bother to raise her gaze to meet his but began unbuttoning her blouse instead, letting her fingers roam until she revealed the grey, lace bra, “that night that you asked me what I want? Well, I know I’ve told you want I want, and now? Now, I want you.” 

This wasn’t the Claire he’d seen before; this was a person who was running off the exhaustion of the day, both physical and  _emotional_. She was thinking about  _sex_  and he was there thinking of ways to comfort her. “First,” he slowly reached out to grasp each side of her shirt before pulling it shut albeit pulling her closer, “you’ve already told me that you  _want_  me, and today isn’t the first time, and second,” he paused and cocked his head to the side, “how long have you been thinking about  _sex_?”  _And why?_

Claire had  _never_ struck him as someone who made such irrational decisions. It was the same reason he had  _expected_ for her to take so much goddamn time in figuring out what she wanted when it came to  _them._ Now, when she was claiming that she wanted him, it was bound to raise red flags. 

“Why are you asking so many questions?” Her tone dropped with a quiet frown. “If you want --” her eyebrows rose as shock filled her eyes, “you don’t  _want_  to have sex with me, do you? That’s what’s wrong.” If he hadn’t been so surprised Owen would’ve started laughing, yet he just sat there with a dumbfounded expression staring straight ahead at Claire until he was able to find his voice a minute later. “You’re fucking kidding, right?” 

Clearly it wasn’t quick enough. Claire had slid off his lap faster than it would take for the rejection to settle into her bones, disappointment coating her expression as she reached for the buttons on her shirt, trying to thread each through a hole with shaking hands. 

“Claire...” Owen didn’t make a move but raised his gaze to watch her,  repeating her name when she didn’t stop to look at him, this time putting a stronger tone behind her name. She ignored him again, mismatching the buttons and their corresponding holes until she threw both hands to her sides with a loud cry. “What the fuck do you want, Owen? If you aren’t here to  _fuck_  me, then why are you here? You won the goddamn case, it’s  _over_. Zara is dead, she’s fucking  _dead,_ so why aren’t you at a fucking bar celebrating with Vic the Dick?” By the time she was done unloading on him, Claire was screaming, clenching both hands into fists at her side until nails were chipping away at her flesh. Owen barely blinked as the words rolled right off his skin, unwilling to let her insults get to him. He knew it wasn’t Claire talking; it was her  _fears_. 

“I’m here,” he breathed, a calmness setting over him, one he wished he could share with her, “because I want to be here with  _you_. I wanted to come over and  _check_  on you, because I --” Owen stood and crossed the room with ease, trying not to force her into a corner. The last thing he wanted was to corner her like a frightened animal in a four by four cage. In a last effort to calm her, he reached a hand out for her, waiting for Claire to accept. 

Her wild eyes flashed between his and the olive branch he was extending, licking her lips as she tried to calm her breathing. “I want the pain to go away,” she whimpered, nearly collapsing as she clenched her eyes closed. “I want you to take this pain away because I can’t do this. I can’t handle her pain, too. I was her lawyer because as a  _team_  we were invincible, and now that it’s just me here to break the fall of this goddamn pain?” Claire thrusted a hand into her red locks and tugged at the roots, growling with frustration. “Do you know what it’s like to have someone’s death on your fucking shoulders?” 

Owen swallowed thickly and shoved the thoughts of his mother from his mind.  _Now_  wasn’t the time.  _Now_  was not the time that Claire needed to learn about his mother’s death. Instead, he shook his head slowly before nodding his gaze to his hand. “Let me help you, Claire, let me help take the pain away.” 

She stepped towards him after replaying his words in her mind on a repeating loop, listening to the inflictions in his voice, how it never changed in pitch or tone, dismantling her theory that he was lying. And his eyes, they never left hers. He was soaking her in, watching her every movement, and the moment she reached for his hand, he pulled her against his chest and wrapped an arm around her back.  Never once had he wanted to mix their relationship with what he knew in the past, but it was inevitable. He wasn’t an evil man, not close, but he wanted her in more ways than one. Owen wanted every piece of Claire she would willingly hand over. It took but a minute for her to cave in as she gently shoved him towards the bed, but before she could react he had turned them around and was leading her backwards until the backs of her knees collided with the mattress, forcing her to sit. 

“Scoot up, and then lay back,” he sighed, reaching out to rest both hands against her thighs. She just had to be wearing slacks. No that he could exactly blame her; it was winter. Yet, it was certainly warm enough for her to walk around the house in nothing but a shirt draped over her shoulders, unbuttoned to her navel. Fucking Christ, pay attention. Ever so slowly he trailed both hands to her waist and began fiddling with the button, popping it through before he looked back up to her, watching as the tears drifted down her temples. “Oh, Claire.” Bracing both hands against the bed, he leaned over her and kissed across her stomach, only ever wanting to make her pain go away. “I will never hurt you against your will,” he breathed against her neck, nipping at the taut skin over her collar bone. He wanted to memorize every piece of her from this moment on; every freckle and its placement on her velvet-soft skin. She was the galaxy and each freckle was a star, strategically kissed on her by the sun and the moon. “I will never ask you to do anything I would never accept in return. I want to earn the control you’ll give to me.” 

Claire was all ready prepared to give him an answer; she had been since the night he asked her. She wanted to be swept up in the desire that seeped from his words and his touch just as much as she wanted to be the object of his affection. It was terrifying to jump from the cliff, but she wanted to feel the adrenaline surging through her veins. And the only way was to be with him. It made sense -- maybe only in her mind -- but she wanted it. 

“Let me show you what I mean?” He cocked his head to the side and waited for her answer, making good of his promise; he would never force her into a situation she didn't willingly want. Without knowingly answering his first question, Claire shook her head and her lips moved, spewing words from her mouth faster than she could think. “You don’t have to ask me, Owen, I’m offering.” 

It was what he’d been seeking since the last time they’d been together; he wanted her to himself, to have her mind _and_ body. Gently, he pushed the material from her waist as far as he possibly could before he had to sit up and yanked her pants off, throwing them to the ground. Peering over his shoulder at her, Owen stilled at the soft smile she wore. “Why are you smiling?” 

How was she supposed to answer when the day felt like an experience of living in Hell, until this point? “Because you’re here.” Even if it felt foreign to speak the words, it was the utter truth. She was ultimately happier because he was around, and the fact that she was  _just_ realizing it was the downfall. He took the answer in stride but gave her a moment to breathe as he sat back on his heels and reached to the hem of his shirt, pulling it off in one swift motion only to let it join the growing pile on the wood floor. 

While she’d seen him without a shirt on, Claire realized she had never taken the time to  _notice_  the small things about him, like the scar on his chest, just over his left pec muscle, that looked like a serrated knife had sliced into his skin. Or the way every muscle (or so it seemed) flinched as he drug his gaze over her. “Is this the part where you show me?” Her voice sounded smaller, taking on that of a shy, mousy version of herself, but she couldn’t help to feel inferior to him -- but it was in the most exhilarating way possible. 

A wicked, impish grin formed on his lips as he moved back to hover over her body, shoving at his jeans until he was freed of the material. If there was going to be a  _future_  of this, Owen knew he had to do this right. He planned to take his time and take her to entirely to another planet; he would do anything to take her away from the pain she was in, mainly because he knew how it could wreck her soul. “I’m going to show you, but we’re going slow, understood?” 

When she first realized he was  _instructing_  her, Claire felt the urge to correct him and to inform him that she wasn’t going to take direction, until she realized it was exactly what she craved. She wanted to let someone else take the reigns; she wanted to let go of the responsibility and let  _him_  have control. Which also freaked her the fuck out. It was almost as if in mere  _hours_  she had switched a flip from being the demanding one who was in charge to wanting to shrug away the cares of the world. 

“Claire?” Owen watched her carefully, hesitant to continue knowing she wasn’t completely in her mind. “You know what, I think this calls for a safe-word.” Claire’s gaze shot to him, looking like she’d seen a ghost. Or like he had two heads.  

“A  _safe-word?”_ Claire choked, blanking on every word she could possibly think of. The only time she’d  _ever_  even heard of a safe-word being used was in hard-core bondage, and even then porn wasn't exactly her go-to these days. Unless it involved watching Oliver Queen on a screen, then she could totally be appreciative. 

He watched the color fade from her cheeks and he scrambled to make up for the sudden fear he had instilled in her mind; there was no telling  _what_ she was imagining now. “Red,” he breathed, reaching out to cup her cheek tenderly, stroking the pad of his thumb under her eye, “red means you want to stop everything, no matter what. Yellow, if you want to use it, means we need to slow down, maybe talk about what’s happening.” As he explained that the word wasn’t going to be  _pineapple_  or  _unicorn,_ Owen could tell she had felt reassured, especially as she laughed quietly. 

“And if I say green?” For a moment she held a straight face, inquisitive about what he would do, but it wasn’t until his smile turned into a playful smirk that she felt the intoxicating shiver travel along her spine, making damn sure she felt it hit every inch. Gently, Owen reached for her right wrist and extended it over her head, pinning it to the mattress. 

“Since you just said green,” he chuckled, drinking her in with his gaze, “that gives me permission to start. Does it not?” Truthfully, if she said no, he would have stopped. But, when she didn’t speak up and only laughed, he continued and made the same fate for her opposite wrist, using one hand to hold them firmly to the bed as he used the other to explore her curves. There were so many places he wanted to start, but as he arched over her much smaller body and pressed his lips against her jaw, the soft noises that had all ready slipped from her pursed lips encouraged him to take his time. 

Confused whether she wanted to try and lay as still as possible in order to not tug on her wrists, which just made him  _tighten_  his grip, or struggle against him, she was forced into clamping her lips shut to stop herself from moaning prematurely. Was it a turn-off for him to hear his name repeatedly? Was that  _actually_  a question she was pondering? Before she was able to compose an answer for herself, she was yanked from her thoughts by his raspy voice and his lips dangerously close to her ear. 

“We’re going to add a twist to tonight. You’re not allowed to hold back those sweet,  _sweet_  noises I know you’re  _dying_  to unleash. I want to hear them, even if you’re cursing my name.” The demand in his voice came across clear as she nodded her head, giving into the rule, even if she knew it would be broken at  _some_ point. “How do you feel about not touching until you’re given permission?” From their few times together, Owen knew that she craved to be able to touch herself, and it made sense; it was  _control_.

He enveloped himself in recommitting to memory every inch of her skin and listened when Claire piped up to add what she liked and didn’t like; it was give and take for the most part, and it was easy to do. To Claire, it felt somewhat natural, and Owen figured he would have plenty of time to thank his lucky stars for it. He wanted to start off slow, to let her grow accustomed to having him pinning her to the bed, hardly giving her space to move as his knees caged around her hips. He was growing hard, and she could feel him pressing against her stomach at times, but she didn't dare mock him for fear of what could happen. 

That was until he’d found a weak spot. 

It was just a solid six inches below the bottom of her rib cage, nestled in the arch of her inner thigh, and he’d merely found it by skimming his fingers across her skin, threatening to tickle her if she didn’t tell him. “I’m not going to tell you what you want to hear,” she groaned, trying to shift to the side only to be stopped by his knee, much to her dismay. Seconds later she was squealing with laughter, begging him to stop, but he swore he wouldn’t. “Say it,” he growled, the words thick on his tongue as he skimmed his lips across her waist. Sure, she still had the thin silk covering her, but it was nothing to remove. 

“Fine, you’ve left me no other choice.” Slowly, he pushed at the material until it was around her knees, acting as a binding device to keep her constrained. Claire moaned, begging for him, but Owen only laughed. “You think i’m going to let you get off  _this soon_?” Was she kidding? Claire only shifted again, caught by his hand pressing down on her wrist, and she bit into her bottom lip. It wasn’t that it  _hurt_ , per se, she just wasn’t used to the feeling yet. 

Teasingly, he skimmed his hand to the apex of her thighs before nestling a finger between her lips, gliding over her clit as he felt just how wet she’d become.  _Fucking Christ._ She would be the death of him, he was sure. It was as if the emotions from earlier in the evening became extinct as she came to life, struggling against his touch and bucking her hips into thin air. As sadistic as he was, Owen enjoyed knowing that  _he_  could take her away from the pain; that he could give her reprieve. While he only wanted to tease her, he lost himself in listening to her soft whimpers and began to work up a reasonable pace, rubbing her clit with eager strides in order to push her closer to the edge. If the erratic movements her hips made weren’t an indicator of how close she was, the fact that her eyes were clenched shut gave him an idea.

“Do you want  _me,_ or would you rather that I keep this up?” He could go all night, truth be told, but he wanted  _her_  to choose. 

Her eyes snapped open, “If I choose you, do I get to touch?” 

_Damn, she caught on quickly._

“I’m not telling, but you have five seconds to tell me what your choice is going to be.” Owen increased the pace for a moment before dying down to a mere rub as he counted down, speeding back up between each second until he paused just before zero, “time’s --” 

Claire cried out and struggled against the grip he had on her wrists, shaking her head wildly. “Wait, wait,  _please_. I want you, I don’t care if I’m not allowed to touch, I just want  _you_.” 

It felt like he’d been knocked into a brick wall by a semi the way the air left his lungs with such force at her revelation. She wanted  _him._ It wasn’t surprising as much as  _uplifting_. She didn’t hate him, she didn’t  _blame_  him. And, even if the alternative of hating  _herself_  was worse, he would worry about that later; he couldn’t change that, but he could  _help_  it. It didn’t take him being told a second time before he was slipping from his briefs, kicking them off the side of the bed, before he carefully hitched her leg around his waist and without preamble slid into her. 

The same feeling of being hit by a goddamn semi-truck hit Claire as she gulped in a breath of air;  _he didn’t fucking feel like that the last three times... did he?_  No, there was no fucking way. She would’ve known. With her arms stretched over her head and her breasts perking, Owen considered himself one lucky fucker. Leaning his head to press a kiss to her sternum, he trailed his lips across to her nipple before taking it in his mouth, sucking gently and listening to the soft gasp escape Claire as her back rose from the mattress. Owen coupled the breathy assault on her breasts with thrusting into her harder, increasing the pace until he could barely get a breath in until he felt himself toppling closer to the edge. With a quick glance down at Claire to see her eyes squeezed shut, her lips pursed into a tight line, he pulled his hand from her wrists and wedged it between their bodies, stroking her clit with a purpose. “Come on,” he breathed against her lips, urging her closer to an orgasm, “come for me.” 

Only a mere seconds later and with a whimpering shout, he felt her spasming around him and pushed him over the edge. It wasn’t so much about  _his_  release as it was hers, but Owen wasn’t going to deny that it felt fan-fucking-tastic to come with her in such a intensified moment. Owen gently sank down next to her on the mattress as Claire rolled onto her side and felt himself slowly slip out of her as the minutes passed in comfortable silence. He reached over to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear and smiled at the line of sweat dotted across her forehead, wondering what was going through her mind. “Are you still with me, or did I completely blow your mind?” His lips tweaked into a smirk at the corners as he leaned in to steal a quick kiss. But, the moment he rested his hand on her hip, fingers splayed and engulfing her slender waist, and felt her tense, he knew something was wrong. “Claire, talk to me...” 

Her breathing hit zero to sixty in the matter of seconds and she gripped the sheets, pulling herself to sit up.  _Maybe it’ll help, maybe you just need a break_. She exhausted in one loud huff before wordlessly slipped from the bed, reached for her shirt, and ran from the room, leaving a confused and stunned Owen on her bed. Her breathing only worsened as she reached the kitchen and she grappled for a glass with shaking hands, knocking three others into the sink in the process. Claire reached in to pick up the glass, whimpering as the jagged glass cut into her skin, waking up the from the nightmare she reliving right before her eyes. 

By the time Owen had shrugged back into his jeans and jogged after her, he heard the glass shattering just as he entered the kitchen and hissed when she lifted a hand with blood running down the side. “Hey,” he stepped closer and clasped his hand around her wrist, holding it over the sink as to not leave blood dripping across the apartment. “It’s a good thing I’m certified in first aid, isn’t it?” His charming smile was enough to get the slightest of smiles from her. Despite her ragged breathing and the exhaustion that was beginning to set in, he was proud of her for not letting herself go, although he knew it would happen sooner or later. Owen worked with one hand as he ripped more paper towels than needed from the roll and wrapped it around the side of her hand, instructing Claire to hold it tightly as he went in search of the first aid kit. Minutes later, and after finding hoards of tampons and condoms, he returned with the kit and a smirk plastered to his features. 

An hour later they were tucked into bed and laying on their sides, facing the other. They hadn’t talked much, and Owen didn’t have a sadistic bone left in his body that was willing to bring up the panic attack she had, so it left them wrapped in a silence neither could deny was comfortable. 

Claire wasn’t able to stop the thoughts in her mind from repeating the day’s events, everything from waking up wrapped in his embrace to finding out that Zara was dead. It wasn’t what she  _wanted_ to think about, but for whatever sickening reason, replaying the sinful sex wasn’t an option. “Please, will you --” 

“Don’t ask me to stay when you all ready knew I wasn’t leaving, it’s a total insult.” Leaning in to gently kiss her, Owen tested the waters by nibbling on her bottom lip until she pulled back with a soft sigh. “You know I’m not good for you, right?” 

Owen rolled his eyes, comforted by the darkness that had invaded the room and masked her from seeing, “I think we’ve gone over this, and the jury is still out on how good I am for  _you_ , too. So, until the verdict is in, you’re stuck with me.” 

“You say that like it’s a death sentence.”

* * *

As always, I owe everything to those of you who make up my raptor dream-team: @amelias-obsessions, @clawengradearings-world, @poeticandvaguelysweet, @captainandbucky, @lannisterslioness, @verxxotle, @cali-forniacationn, @endearing-claire, @firestarter91, @all–the–dancers, @privatez0mbie, @dealingdreams, and I’m sure there are so many of you that I’m forgetting to tag, and I profusely apologize.


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